Part 5 – A Wrong Turn

“I have a feeling faith burned holes right through my eyes”

After a few minutes an Ethiopian doctor came back with the results of my blood tests. Instead of standing to talk, she sat down to the right of me which registered in the back of my head. When she took the blood I didn’t think anything of it. It was just another routine procedure like taking someone’s blood pressure or temperature. I turned on my side and looked at her through the railing of the bed. She spoke with a somber tone “The blood tests show that you have malaria”

My face soured. My first reaction was of annoyance, inconvenience and anger – part at the situation, part at my myself. I hadn’t been taking malaria pills. I thought what a pain in the ass – like the feeling when suddenly you realize after driving all night you had carelessly made a wrong turn somewhere and have to drive all the way back to where you came from, and then start over. Every hour a reminder of your terribly careless and inconvenient mistake.

I knew that in some cases malaria symptoms can reoccur over time – five years, ten years. This was my biggest and only concern, but it was also the only thing I knew about the disease. The last thing I want in my life is to live with the burden of knowing I could get sick with this again. The doctor then explained that there were four kinds of malaria and with a voice only used for very bad news that I had the worst type – Plasmodium falciparum malaria. She looked serious.

My immediate and only reply was if my kind of malaria would relapse in the future. She said it wouldn’t. Relief. I’d rather have the worst kind of malaria than the kind that relapses, but immediately I felt a guilt with this thought. I shouldn’t let her know what I was thinking. I was a child being given two options and I was happy to make my ignorant choice without any advice or guidance, except the only choice I had now was how I would react to the bad news. For better or worse, I knew absolutely nothing about this disease. I was at the beginning of my path to learn just how little I knew and how very ignorant I was that day.

The head doctor returned, we had a chat and he seemed no different. He was up beat and reassured me that I’d be ok. He explained how most likely I had contracted the malaria while I was traveling weeks ago in Omo Valley as the disease incubates from nine to fourteen days. He didn’t go on about my current condition in details but more how they would treat my disease with malarial drugs. Perhaps I might need to stay an extra night or two, but with his confidence I wasn’t distressed. I was feeling as sick as I’ve ever felt in my life, but not once since the first day I fell ill did I feel worried or concerned.

To do this day I can’t pronounce the name Plasmodium falciparum malaria, but I refer to it by it’s other name, cerebral malaria. Later I learned in very extreme cases it can spread into the brain with symptoms such as convulsions and tiredness leading to a coma and eventually death. But the doctor didn’t ? … or wouldn’t ? … go into details of this scenario rather emphasizing it was very good that I had arrived as early as I did. He said my physique and healthy lifestyle would help me a great deal to recover quickly. I had to presume I wasn’t showing any symptoms of my malaria becoming more serious or extreme.

I asked a few more questions and thought even though he said I came into the clinic early enough for the disease to be taken care of I was curious to know how they actually treat the malaria once it’s in the brain. For the first time he seemed uncomfortable to answer. He was a bit dismissive as if it’s not something that we have to consider. In a round about way he said there isn’t much they can do once it gets that far. With that said, they rolled my bed up to the second floor to my room. I was expecting to be back in a hotel somewhere within a few days.

The nurses and doctors went away to let me settle in and sleep for the night, and for the first time in days I was all to myself, alone. My thoughts turned to the girls, Roni, Racheli and Ofer, and where they were and if, or when I would see them next. Ofer had her swollen foot checked out somewhere in the clinic and I presumed she would’ve gotten some medicine and returned to the hotel within a few hours. I knew after Addis they were planning on going their separate ways to travel around Ethiopia, so I worried I might not get a chance to see them again. What a sad way to say goodbye I thought. A strange feeling overcame me. I wanted to thank them for something, but wasn’t sure what it was.

Part 4 – Check In (The Addis Clinic)

“What you lose in the fire we find in the ashes”

After winding through a maze of suburban back streets the taxi arrived and I wasted no time. I walked through the security gate, past the armed guard, straight toward the clinic’s front doors leaving the girls behind to sort out the fare and pickup time for later that day. As I opened the front doors I was anticipating the reaction I would get as I knew I must of looked like a mess. A team of receptionists eyes opened wide and looked as if they were staring at a sick, pale ghost. Just as I felt.

I sat down on the circular lobby sofa and right away a nurse approached. How can I help you? he asked. “I need to see a doctor, please” He then hesitantly asked if I could follow him just down the hallway to an examination room. My face must of been stricken with grief at the thought of more walking as he then offered a wheel chair. Never in my life have I been in such a weak state that I needed a wheel chair or wanted one. It was just down the hallway, but I was getting better at coming to terms with being sick and knew I’d reached my limit for the day. I asked to be wheeled in.

I could see the clinic was brand new, modern and very clean. As nice or nicer than anything I’ve been to back home. The girls had found the clinic through an Israeli WhatsAp “Ethiopian travel group” Never in a million years would I think I would thank God for WhatsAp and the Israelis for bringing me to a Norwegian clinic in Ethiopia. The marvel of the smart phone and travel.

I just arrived but felt safe and could put away any notion of being treated in a clinic without proper staff and facilities. After weeks of travel through harsh and dusty terrain, sleeping in tents, hundred year old guesthouses and the Awash hotel, I laid down on a clean white bed for a very welcome change. The nurse began to take my blood pressure, temperature as well as a few other simple tests and said a doctor would be here in a few moments.

A western doctor arrived with a smile and warm greeting. We shook hands and right away I felt he was a pleasant, cheerful, intelligent person with a sense of humour. He said that I looked like I was an adventurous person. I laughed and said I suppose I am, but it looks like it got me into trouble this time. He then said with a smile and a flex of his arm that I looked strong and athletic and if I exercised. Again, I laughed and said I did try to keep in shape and exercised most days, but it didn’t do me much help this time either. I felt comfortable with him as he was personable, human.

After our greeting he noticed my blood pressure and said to the nurse with disbelief – Is that his blood pressure!? Even though I’ve never really understood the blood pressure numbers I felt a relief as low blood pressure explained my exhaustion – why I couldn’t ever catch my breath, walk or even sit. It was my blood pressure the whole time I thought! Problem number one solved.

At this point I was still able to communicate with a relatively clear mind. When explaining my story and symptoms to him I wanted to be sure not to leave anything out and at the same time not to carry on and on about something insignificant. With a long pause before I began I replayed everything backwards in my head. I wanted to get this right I thought – where I began to feel sick, how I am today, and everything in between. It seems simple enough but when your sick the newest symptom can take over leaving your memory to dismiss your last ache. I found it extremely frustrating that I couldn’t describe my symptoms better, particularly the pain I had in my midsection. I could only describe it to the doctor as “discomfort” and “swollen”

Without asking me too many questions and within a matter of minutes he said I would have to stay the night and have an IV drip, but I’d be ok. I felt instant relief when he said I would get a drip. I hadn’t eaten in days and thought now with some nutrients I would only improve. He seemed confident and reassured me that I’d be fine and after some tests and a nights sleep could go home the next day. I was relieved. Soon the fever would break and my stop watch would stop ticking and I could return to normal. Just as planned.

Part 3 – The Awash Hotel

The First Thing You Learn Is the Last Thing You Remember

“You want to see how far it’s going to take you. Where your place is.  Some pass quickly, others linger. Some disappear unexpectedly.”

When I look back one day I wonder if curiosity will come around and ask me what was the name of the Awash hotel. What will the name conjure up? Will it amuse me, make me laugh, smile, cry, or just nothing at all. Without knowing the name of the hotel I followed the elderly woman carrying my bags and dragged my feet, head down, hunched over, straight into the room laying down on the first bed I saw. Names were unnecessary.

When I travel I rarely know the date or day of the week. I don’t plan things rather let things develop as they do. Although, as if these two days in Awash were marked on a calendar I remember the first night in Awash was a Friday. The two girls, Racheli and Roni were religious and the night before we left Harar they playfully warned me they don’t use any electronics from Friday to Saturday. They couldn’t eat meat, but would prepare a special meal for all of us. At the time I had a big smile on my face as I could see they were testing me out to see if I knew what I agreed to when it was decided to travel together. I was up for this special meal, new friends and a new experience. It wouldn’t be just another hotel in another town to forget

All of us were feeling the effects of the trip. It was not comfortable. Ofer’s infected foot was quite swollen and she seemed very uncomfortable, in pain and concerned. I was mindful not to ask her too often how she felt or if she was feeling better. When your sick they can be tiring questions to answer, and I was sure her friends were keeping her busy with concern.

Other than Ofer and me, the other two girls seemed ok from the trip. All of us presumed it was the roller coaster mini van ride that made me ill since other passengers were sick as well. It seemed logical. I wasn’t throwing food up, so it couldn’t of been food poisoning. I got in the van feeling fine except for that morning twinge and got off feeling worse than I should have. In five hours I went from perfect health to not being able to stand. 

The sleeping arrangements were that the two sickies shared one double bed and the healthy girls would have their own double in the adjacent room where the bath and toilet were. When we arrived they asked me if I minded sharing a bed to save money.  I want to be easy going and cooperative, but I was so sick I worried I would disturb Offer. My answer was quick – sure it’s ok. I felt so sick I had no capacity to think about things or talk about them. I needed people to just take control and make decisions, so I could concentrate on being sick. So there we were, a pair of sick travellers in a double bed. Her foot elevated, my fetal position tucked in and tight.

The girls were concerned and kind to ask if I wanted something to eat or drink, but I was feeling slightly uneasy as we didn’t talk much about what was wrong with me.  I thought perhaps we had just met and they didn’t yet feel comfortable enough with me. More or less we were still strangers. I felt their concern and trusted them, but I kind of had paranoid thoughts when they were speaking in Hebrew. Were they talking about how scared they were for me? how much worse I might get?  They said in a harmless, “just to be safe” way that we’d go to a clinic for Ofer and I in Addis, but it wasn’t in a manner of urgency. The evening was settling in as was my fever and my mind was beginning to think too much I told myself. 

The first night my illness began to unfold. It was no longer just the nausea and exhaustion that I had in the van. A heavy fever began which would stay with me for nearly two weeks. When you get a fever, without thinking, you feel it out. You work your way into it. You want to see how far it’s going to take you. Where your place is.  Some pass quickly, others linger. Some disappear unexpectedly. I slipped in and out of sleep with a fever, body aches, diarrhea, exhaustion and nausea. The fever didn’t bother me so much, but the worst part was the exhaustion. Always two steps behind to catch my breath as if I was missing a kidney.

Something as harmless as sitting made me feel a fatigue I can’t describe. To get my body from a laying position to sitting on the edge of the bed was very difficult. Then the decision to leave that sitting position for the few steps to the toilet was not made lightly. Once I was standing it was as if Awash was at 10,000 meters above sea level. Just a few steps made me out of breath. I settled into this cycle of decisions and physical exertion and pain hourly.

All the while I missed the special meal the two girls had prepared. They were now singing Hebrew songs softly. It soothed me and was a comfort to me while I was half awake, half in pain. It felt like a prayer. In my vulnerable state my mind I felt how beautiful it was. People singing songs about life.

The first night was over and I was expecting to feel different. Progress. Some evidence to prove I had slept, rested and suffered, but still, I was just as sick as the day before. I carried on with my hourly routine of aches, exhaustion, diarrhea, nausea and the dreaded ten step trip from bed to toilet. The day passed with sipping water and coke. It had been two days since I’d eaten. My state of mind was optimistic, thinking this wouldn’t last long. In the back of my head I had set a stop watch to see how long this would last, forecasting how many days before I could get back on the road and travel north. 

The second night had arrived and a change began for the worse.  In what felt like the middle of the night I went from burning fever to the coldest chills to my bones. I was shaking uncontrollably. Somewhere in my mind I hoped that Ofer was awake and could see me. I wanted her to know I was getting worse. I had never had chills like this before. It was surreal. The chills would pass and the burning fever would take over soaking me in sweat. That night I slept very little, but still in my head I was waiting for all of this to pass. I expected at some point the fever would peak and soon after break. There would be a morning full of relief and hindsight.

The next day the girls were up and talking. At some point they asked how I felt and if I had slept ok. I’m not sure how I replied as I was still unsure of what had happened last night. Between the fever and chills and disturbing dreams I felt out of it. They tried to get me to eat some rice but it was impossible I thought. They were being so kind, I wanted to try but I just couldn’t. I started to worry I was keeping the girls from moving on to Addis. When we arrived I hadn’t asked how long they planned on staying. That morning they were talking to the hotel owner about arranging a half day trip through the national park but decided it wasn’t worth the money.

Those two days in Awash I felt like a huge burden to these three girls. They didn’t plan on traveling with a stranger or even worse a terribly sick stranger. Travellers need freedom to come and go as they wish and if I was sick I’m sure I would be an anchor. I thought about saying to them they should just keep moving and I’d stay behind in the hotel to recover. They should go to the national park and then onto Addis if that was their original plan. I would be ok and sleep the fever off and when I was feeling well enough I would get to Addis on my own and in my own time.

I  realized this would put them in an awkward position. I was giving them two awful choices. Keep traveling with the sick guy tagging along, or leave the sick guy behind alone in a hotel. Not really much of an option for them, so even though I wanted to stay another night or two I thought it was best not to disrupt their plans and stick to what we originally agreed. Travel from Harar to Addis together.

I decided to travel with them to Addis, but knew it was impossible for me to get into local transport. Usually you would think it was the vomiting or diarrhea that would be the worry in a car or van, but it was the exhaustion that worried me. It was a painful deathly exhaustion. Even I though I hadn’t thought about what was wrong with me or that anything was seriously wrong, I was slowly coming to terms with my mysterious illness and finding my limits.

I said to the girls that it was just impossible for me to travel like a local and I understood if they couldn’t afford a private van. I offered to pay for the private van myself and if they wanted to join me they would only need to pay me what the local van would have cost. If they wanted to take a local mini van I would understand, but for me I just couldn’t bare it.  At this point I didn’t care about money or decisions. I needed to get to Addis as fast as possible, as comfortably as possible. I wanted to get to a new hotel, sleep and wake feeling better. Fevers don’t last forever I thought.

 

The First Thing You Learn Is the Last Thing You Remember

Part 2 – Harar to Awash

I lay in a bed
My head doesn’t have anywhere to go
Tied to itself
Ready to go anywhere else
I can’t escape myself.

On the second floor of the Harar guesthouse it all began. Im not a morning person though in age I’ve improved – with some resentment. Rest shouldn’t be disturbed I believe, yet aging takes us up on this and we do our best to make the most of our days. And so there I was the first to awake, but today I felt a twinge. The slightest of twinges.

The girls were gathering their things and we were more or less on time. Travellers know the mini vans, buses, boats, tuk tuks -never arrive when they say they will. So without urgency I lounged in my bed listening to the sounds of bags being rustled with my eyes shut but ears softly open, and in the back of my head remembering I had a twinge. In my lower back I felt the slightest of pain and thought the thought that all of us have once had – oh, am I coming down with something?  I doubt it, it’s just my imagination. I dismissed it and said to myself I shouldn’t have skipped dinner the night before and if I was a morning person I would have felt more like myself.

Roni and I were the first ones up and went out to see where the pick up driver was. They were rather late, so we started to make phone calls. They couldn’t quite find the guesthouse so we walked out to the main street in hopes they would see us. As we waited on the corner I said to Roni I think Im getting sick, I should have eaten dinner last night. I was fine but the subtle discomfort made me think in a few days I’ll have caught something. I bought a bottle of water and some cookies for our 5 hour journey and eventually we were all in the van waiting patiently to leave for Awash.

As we waited it slowly dawned on me that I hadn’t taken local transport in Ethiopia on this trip. So far, it had been a private 4WD for two weeks in Omo Valley and the airplane. As we waited to leave in what was obviously a full van I grew irritated with the realization they were going to cram as many human beings as possible into the already very full van. Shoulder to shoulder would’ve been comfortable. Instead it was a van of bodies like hardened Play-Doh left in the box too long. Off we went with one thought – how many hours to Awash?

You need to know when something is best to be forgotten, but for the sake of the story I’ll fill in the gaps. The mini van left Harar and it soon became clear the driver wasn’t going to be mindful of the 15 or so passengers suffering. Speeding recklessly over, down and around the winding hills with hard breaks and even harder gas, people began to get sick. The lady in front of me was having a hard time and the window was her only refuge. As I watched her become more and more sick I wondered if I would as well. Me wondering if I’d get sick was the first sign I’d succumb to car sickness as not long after, a few hours into the journey I began to feel ill.

It wasn’t so bad as I vomited only a few times and thought to myself it was good to get that out of the way. But we had hours and hours to go and the bad driving and sick tummy didn’t let up.  I remember the van stopping for some reason and getting out to be sick. Once they were ready to go again the driver’s side kick rudely demanded I get on. I replied F%&# OFF. I was getting worse and having a hard time as it’s very unusual I snap like this.

When the van finally stopped halfway for lunch I was thankful. Only a handful of hours later my slightest twinge had become a full on battle between finding any kind of comfort and feeling just awful. Standing was an effort. Sitting wasn’t comforting. Food was unimaginable.

The four of us sat on the curb with Ofer nursing her swollen infected foot, and me bent over wanting air. Not long after locals gathered around staring and smiling. Fantastic. Our misery was their amusement. I asked a local man standing with a bag of limes if I could have one. Years ago I was traveling with my brother in Bali and his food poisoning came into fruition while we were stuck in a van for hours driving across the island. The driver handed him a lime to sniff and it actually helped. So thinking I was suffering from motion sickness or a bad stomach I gave it a try. No luck.

As everyone crammed themselves back into the sick box we left behind the amused crowd and looked forward to the fact this was the last part of our journey. The man next to me asked if the break made me feel better. Within moments I began to throw up. We had been sitting on the curb for a good forty minutes, yet I felt just as bad as when we stopped. This wasn’t going away. Everyone has experienced some kind of car sickness, sea sickness or motion sickness. When it hits you it feels awful and there’s no getting better. You need to ride it out. In my head that’s what I was doing. Riding it out. When I get to the hotel I’ll crash and recover within hours and feel myself and settled. I told myself all of this will be forgotten.

Awash is just a one road desert town located far away from anything useful though as we approached the town it seemed like an oasis of comfort and refuge. With eyes shut tight and my head in my hands I could gradually feel the landscape had flattened and climate more arid. The temperature was rising and air drier, but I wasn’t concerned with anything around me. I let me senses be and focused on arriving soon.

As we arrived at the hotel I stepped out of the van and the driver’s dropped our bags off and patronizingly said good bye as he could see I couldn’t stand. I was bent over, not to throw up but out of exhaustion. All I could do was wait for the girls to sort out the room with the hotel owner and leave behind the driver and van far, far behind.

The girls, hotel owner and an older woman began to gather the bags to take us to the room, but I was still bent over with hands on knees. The older woman offered to take one of the girl’s bags but she declined considering the woman was much older. When the woman reached for mine I wasn’t able to stop her. In the corner of my eye I saw one of the girls take notice. From the slightest of morning twinges to this I thought. I didn’t leave that Awash hotel room for the next two days.

The First Thing You Learn Is the Last Thing You Remember

Part I – Harar, Ethiopia

“May you never forget what is worth remembering nor ever remember what is best forgotten”

I came to Ethiopia to take photos of people. The south of Ethiopia has the highest concentration of African tribes in the entire continent. The area is called Omo Valley and it’s another world. I spent two weeks there and I remember having a feeling that I never felt like I was in Africa. To this day I don’t know why I couldn’t escape this feeling. Perhaps it was because Omo is a world unto it’s own, but maybe it was simply because this trip was unexpected and last minute. It wasn’t really planned and the main reason I ended up here was because of the cheap ticket I stumbled across. But even after two weeks something just never sunk in. It was the most exotic place I have ever traveled to. The landscape was surreal, remote and endless. The tribes were beyond anything I could have hoped for. Exotic and other worldly – a photographer’s dream. Still, something never clicked.

After the two weeks in Omo were up, I made my way back to the capital of Addis uncertain of what to do next. I had done what I had came here for and the remaining ten days were just kind of filler to hopefully round out my portfolio for this trip. I wanted to push myself and make the most of these ten days, so I would just stay the night and fly out the next day. The only thing is that I couldn’t decide where to go.

In the north were the rock churches carved into the earth, and in the east was the ancient Islamic walled city of Harar which is located between Addis and Somaliland. Harar sounded like a fantasy to me. The only thing was that most people only spend two or three days in Harar. Where would I go next? What would I do with my other seven days? Was I going to fly there and just fly back to the capital? It wasn’t the most efficient use of my time and money. One idea I had was to get off the travellers circuit and make my way to Somaliland and Djibouti after Harar. That would have been an adventure to never forget. I needed to make a decision, Harar and possibly Somaliland, or north to the churches. At the airline office that night the only available seat anywhere in the country for the next day was to Harar.  It was decided.

I spent only two nights in Harar. I walked around the first day, met some local characters and took my photos but nothing special. I knew I had likely already gotten the best photos I would from this trip in Omo Valley, so I tried to console myself and said even one good photo in Harar would make the trip worthwhile. Still, I decided to push myself and stay a a couple days until I came up with a few good photos.

At the end of the first night after feeding the wild Hyenas (that’s another story) I came back to the guesthouse I was staying at and met three Israeli girls. We chatted a bit and by circumstance we decided to share transport the next day and travel to a livestock market famous for camels. Traders from Somalia, Djibouti, and Ethiopia would come once a week and sell their camels, cows, goats and anything else you can imagine. It sounded like a perfect chance to get the photos to make my trip to Harar worthwhile.

One girl stayed behind in the guesthouse as she had an infection in her foot so it was just two girls, me and two guides. We chatted in the mini bus, not a lot but just enough to make it easy and comfortable. They were young, only 21 and traveling outside their country for the first time. On the surface it might seem we were the opposites. I had traveled for twenty years and was twice their age and in my eyes they were just starting out. But I enjoyed their company and we had a good chemistry.

At the end of the day I thought to myself I wouldn’t stick around Harar and I’d fly back to Addis and make my way north as soon as possible. I felt guilty not trying harder to get photos in Harar, but I had enough of the city and my instincts said  I needed to keep moving on. 

Late that afternoon I tried to buy an air ticket, but had the luck of having the only travel agency in the city employing a woman who had no interest in helping me. As soon as I asked about the ticket, without even looking at her computer she just said “full”. I tried my best and argued politely but wasn’t going to waste my energy on her. I left empty handed and having to figure out what to do the next day.

Back at the guesthouse I overheard the Israeli girls talking about their travels for the next day. They were arranging transport to the city of Awash, half way between Harar and Addis. The trip to the capital was 10 hours on a terribly uncomfortable local bus and none of us were up for that, so the city of Awash was seemingly perfect to break up our journey. I preferred to just fly but I thought one night in Awash and a chance to visit the national park there seemed like a nice unexpected detour. I asked if they minded I join them and they were ok with it, so they arranged the mini bus tickets for all of us. It all seemed so easy as all I had to do was relax in the guesthouse and wait for the next day’s journey. The pieces were falling into place.